The Diary of William Hart
by Raven Lowe
Summary: Post Season 7, a resurrected Spike sends his diaries from throughout the years to Willow.
1. Default Chapter

Title:  The Diary of William Hart

Author: Shiroi Karasu

Rating: R for the moment will be NC-17 soon.

Pairings: *takes a deep breath* S/Ceily S/D S/Aus S/Aus/D Aus/W S/W S/B S/W and finally A/S/W.  Whew.  Damn Spike gets around.

Disclaimer:  I don't own these people.  I just want them to have sex.  That's all this amounts to.  Don't sue me, I'm broke.  

Summary:  The story of Spike's life from his mortal years, until after Season 7 of Buffy.  Yeah AFTER.  We all know by now he's coming back. Oh yeah, this is all in his point of view.  First person sex, here we come.

Spoilers:  Anything and everything pertaining to Buffy.  That also includes the book "These Our Actors"  (which is if you didn't know a sanctioned Buffy novel centering on Spike and Willow).  

Authors Notes:  I have no life.  I have no beta reader.  Much thought and research has sadly enough gone into this.  The book mentioned above, isn't the greatest book in the world, but it is highly enjoyable and offers a written version of Spike's making and the early time following it.  Anything mentioning his making is taken from here.  Uhm yeah.  This one's for Taku and Usi who got wide eyed at the pairings list.

Feedback- PLEASE!!

1. An Introduction

Hey Red,

            Spike here.  As if you couldn't bloody well tell.  Who else calls you Red?  I'm writing from London, and am planning on stayin here for a few months.  You can write back to this return address, and you know you will be writing me back, right luv?  I'll tell you more about my new flat in another note.

Now, on to the purpose of this package.  Don't worry, it's not a shrunken head this time.  I found these the other day while cleanin' out one of my old storage holes, and thought of you.  We've been talkin' about my past quite a bit lately and these, well luv, these are my past or accounts of them.  Yeah, I kept journals all these years, and if you tell anybody about it, I'll…_torture_ you for a few hours if you catch my drift, pet.

            Anyhow.  I hope these bloody books quench your thirst for this crap so that the next time we're together we can put that mouth of yours to better uses than talking.  

                                                                                                Until then,

                                                                        William Hart III (aka: Spike, the Big Bad)

~x~

            Willow put the letter down and looked at the box that sat before her.  When she had first received the package, she had been wary.  Spike had sent her several… amusing things in the past.  Little trinkets from his recent travels that he thought she would like, or scare her shitless.  But the letter that had been attached to the top of the plain cardboard box had ailed her fears of what lay within the box.  Of course there could be something else in there….

            He had first written a year ago, apparently getting her address from Angel.  No one knew how he came back, and apparently only she and the Los Angeles crew knew that he did.  Hearing from him had made her so happy, and when he showed up on her doorstep a week later, she was happy enough to sleep with him.

            Willow still blushed at the memory of their night together.  Before The First, she would have never dreamed with sleeping with Spike.  Well, okay, to be completely honest she did dream about sleeping with Spike.  She dreamed about it quite often in fact.  But, once again he had been in love with Buffy and she had been gay.  Apparently him being _really_ dead changed something in him, and when he had shown interest in her she had shown interest right back and they had ended up doing the nasty right there on her sofa.  Then the floor.  And then her bed…and in the kitchen…

            Anyway, he had left a week later, but not after assuring her that he would be back.  His last night with her, she had pumped (Did I just say that?)  him for information about his past (before they moved on to the more literal pumping of course).  Sure, she had read the Watcher's Journals back in high school, but she had always wanted more information on the past of the peroxide blonde's past.  Especially after the whole thing with the theatre.  

            She was happy that he had remembered their conversation and sent the journals.  No matter how old she got, she always tended to doubt her self worth, and this proved he cared just a bit.

            Willow opened the box and began removing the numerous books that lay within.  Some of the books were old but in good condition.  At least it seemed he had taken good care of his memoirs.  The type of books varied as well.  Some were leather bound, and others were your regular old 69cent spiral notebooks.  Willow carefully opened the front covers of each and arranged them on the floor in front of her.  They dated from 1879 to 2003.  That surprised her.  How had he gotten the last one out of Sunnydale?

            It was of no matter.  Willow made herself a hot cup of tea and turned on her reading lamp taking the first of the books into her lap, deciding she had might as well get started.  By the amount of books before her, it looked like she had a long road to travel before she would finish.

December 7, 1879- 

~End of An Introduction~


	2. Chapter 2

Title:  The Diary of William Hart (2/?)

Author: Shiroi Karasu

Rating: R for the moment will be NC-17 soon.

Pairings: *takes a deep breath* S/Ceily S/D S/Aus S/Aus/D Aus/W S/B S/W and finally A/S/W.  Whew.  Damn Spike gets around.

Disclaimer:  I don't own these people.  I just want them to have sex.  That's all this amounts to.  Don't sue me, I'm broke.  

Summary:  The story of Spike's life from his mortal years, until after Season 7 of Buffy.  

Spoilers:  Anything and everything pertaining to Buffy.  Including the novels as mentioned before.

Authors Notes:  Mwrrr.  I took a crash course is British slang and such this week.  I swear I'm even thinking in a British accent at the moment.  Quite surly still writing in one as well.  Anyway, thank you for all the feedback and such.  I wasn't too sure about writing this, but now I think I'm really going to go through with it.

Feedback- Feedback is what makes me keep writing.  The more feedback, the better I feel, the faster I write.

2. The Beginning; A Glimpse At the Mortal 

December 7, 1879-

            I have read in one of the new journals from the post that writing one's thoughts helps the creative process.  So I, William Hart III have taken it upon myself to write the world around me as I see it, in hopes that I will be able to gather my thoughts and be able to more eloquently describe what it is I feel in verse.  This form of writing is very new to me, for outside of poetry I have never written a thing aside from the occasional letter, and my schoolwork of course.

            Now to gather my thoughts, which is the point of this whole exercise.  Thoughts.  Whenever I close my eyes to think, her face haunts me.  I can't seem to get her out of my mind, be it day or night.  I write, of course, about my dearest Cecily.  Whom else would I think of with my entire being?  She is my sun, my moon, and all of the stars in my heaven.  She is my heaven, I love her with the cockles of my heart.  

            Not that she returns the gesture.  I have no delusions that she does.  I doubt she even realises that my poetry is meant for her.  I love her for her beauty and her personality, not her intelligence after all. Oh bad me, I shall not speak ill of my love.  She is quite intelligent.  It is only that her friends think me an anorak*.  With all of that against me, I am still assured that all of my pining will pay off and Cecily will fall to my charms.  I am a patient man.  I can wait.  Though I hope that it won't be long, I will be turning twenty-two this coming year, as she will be eighteen. Marrying age.

            Yes, well.  I hear mother calling me for dinner now.  I suppose this has been enough introduction into my life, my love.  I shall continue my thoughts at a later time.  I can see that this will be very beneficial. Until then.  ~William 

December 31, 1879-

            It has been quite a while since I have sat to write.  We are dawning on a new decade tonight, and instead of being with my love at a party, I am here, alone.  Well mother is in the house but she offers no comfort to my young heart.  I was not invited to the gathering tonight.  Overlooked, once again.  It anguishes me more, that the aforementioned party is being held at the home of my beloved. My own heart has betrayed me to the boredom that sets in at this very hour.

            I would have liked to kiss her.  Brazen, I know, but still the same.  They say if you kiss your love on the stroke of midnight on New Years that you will be together forever.  Alas, she had denied me that chance yet again. She still denies me at every turn.  I wonder how much longer will I be able to contain myself?

            Perhaps thinking of something other than my love will make me feel better?  But as I have said before, she is all I can think about.  Some ale then, to soothe the dark thoughts that ail me.  I normally do not allow myself to turn to drink for comfort, but for some reason, on this night, I cannot help but do so.

            Here's to the New Year.  That is what the lower class says to welcome the new year as they lift their glasses and make a toast.  Though I will not admit this to anyone, the lower class intrigues me.  They have a way of speaking and acting, so unlike the way I have been taught.  I suppose their behavior is supposed to disgust me.  With their drinking and dirty habits, gambling, lack of educations, and vernaculars, it seems to disgust everyone else.  Yet it only seems to fascinate me.  I find it amazing that two completely different cultures can exist in the same city as they do here in London.  I'd like to make a study of it some day.  Perhaps learn their slang and live like they do for a while, free of the social restraints wealth has placed upon me. 

            I doubt I will ever have the chance to do so.  It would cost me any standing I have with my dearest Cecily, and I dare not do anything to upset that.  Being free is only a dream.  One that I fear I will never realise, and it's just as well that I don't.  I am enough of an outcast as it is.    

            Now enough of this brooding and on to something more productive.  I believe that I shall write down a verse or two in dedication to this new year.  May it be better than the last, filled with love and luck for all.  ~William

January 10, 1880

            The winds of change are blowing, I can feel it in my bones.  London seems to be in a bustle, there is movement everywhere you turn.  I have never seen the frozen winter streets this busy before in all of my years.  I believe more has turned with this new year than just the century.  Something in the minds of every mortal has changed.  There is a type of revolution upon us.  It is quite exciting.

            I have gotten no further in my quest to win Cecily's heart.  It seems to be a never ending battle.  I went to the theatre today to see her.  Yes, it seems foolish to waste money to attend a play only to watch a girl that isn't even a part of the cast, but I assure, that I did end up watching a bit of the play as well.  It was a very well done production of Shakespeare's _"A Midsummer Night's Dream."_  I was quite enthralled with the lead actor, he played Oberon very well.

            Of course I quite literally ran into Cecily and the intrusive Lasher after the play.  He seems to live to embarrass me in front of the love of my life.  At once I thought I could be friends with the buffoon, but now I find that it is an impossibility for he seems as take with the innocent Cecily as I am.

            My poetry has gotten better.  I know I do not gather my thoughts here often, but it is enough to keep me straight.  I believe the latest of my works will do me great justice in my quest for love.  Well it will if I manage to finish it.  I need a word that begins with the letter e…

            Enough!  I am getting nowhere.  I will spend tonight out I do believe.  The white lined streets of London are quite a site.  It is almost poetic looking at the skyline at night.  The dark sky twinkling with the stars framed by the smoking flatblocks* of London and illuminated by the light from taverns and inns.  Yes, I will walk through the park and treat myself to this sight and hopefully be inspired.  Perhaps I will once again run into the object of my obsessions… She enjoys the view as much as I.  We are very alike, my love and I.  Now if she would only see that.  I bid thee goodnight. ~William


	3. Chapter 3

3.  Beginning of the End

January 11, 1880

            My thoughts are running rampant this morning.  Despite my foolish behaviour at the theatre last night, I have received a post inviting me to a musicale at my dearest Cecily's home.  My heart is overjoyed at the prospect of such an invitation.  I shall have to compose a verse just to honor my love and this occasion.  Not that I do not compose such verses or my love at all times, but today my joy engulfs me.

            I shall win her tonight.  I will swoop in with my lyrical grace and my words shall astound her so that she is weak in the knees and she shall fall into my arms faint, but I shall revive her with the gentlest and most tender of kisses.  Yes, I suppose it will go something like that.

            There is a shortness to this note but I must prepare myself.  I must be the perfectly trimmed knight for my ethereal princess this evening.  ~William

~Of the Beginning~

~Interlude~

            Willow closed the almost completely empty notebook.  Why had William moved on to another one after filling only a few pages of the first?  That didn't really make all that much sense.  Willow's heart went out to the mortal Spike had once been.  Unrequited love just plain stank like big smelly socks.  And no matter what he was still so optimistic that he would win her affections.  

            She could see bits of William and Spike.  Every so often some of the most beautiful words would flow from the normally brash blonde's mouth and make Willow melt.  He certainly had a way with words, no matter what version of himself he was being.

            Eager to figure out the mystery of why the first journal stopped so abruptly, Willow picked up the next book.  She immediately figured it out.  Young William had died. 

~End Interlude~

January 26, 1880

            Forgive me for not writing later that night as promised.  Might we just say that my plan didn't go exactly the way I had thought it would.  Well, I must be completely honest and say my plan was a complete failure, but I gained from the outcome just the same.  Made out like a bandit, I did. 

            Fifteen nights ago my life completely changed.  I see now how much of a blind fool I was.  It's no wonder I was the laughing stock of society.  I look upon my actions now and completely agree with the people I hate.  A right pounce I was.  I am bound and determined to turn myself around, now that I have this second chance at life.

            And those that mocked me will never know what hit them.  I've got good plans for the lot of them.  If Angelus will let me out of his sight long enough to take care of them.

            I suppose I should say exactly how my life completely changed, for memories sake.  Well, I've become a vampire.  Yes, the fairy tales all seem to be true, and I've joined the ranks of the creatures of the night.

            You see, I went to that party with my plans and my heart on my sleeve.  All that I found there was humiliation.  It stuck me to the core.  She said I was beneath her.  My poor heart just couldn't take it.  I have always had a flair for words, but I can think of none, even now, that can describe what I felt.  The love of my life pushed me into the waiting arms of death.

            And what a death it was.  If Cecily was the love of my life, then Drusilla is the love of my death.  If my heart was still beating, it would beat for my dark goddess, but it was my dark goddess that took that heartbeat away along with the blinders that had been shielding me from the way things were.

            Drusilla took the pathetic weeping mass that was me, and made it possible for me to start anew.  She was the first thing I laid my eyes upon after rising from the grave, she is the only woman I want to lay my eyes upon again.  She didn't push me away.  Said I was her handsome knight.  We shagged right there on my grave.

            I would have never even imagined doing something as lewd as that in public before, but now it doesn't matter.  Nothing like social constraints matters to me anymore.  Only Drusilla, blood, and revenge enter my mind now.  Well shagging does have the tendency to enter as well.

            I've spent the past fifteen days pondering what I've become, and of course spending a bit of time in the underworld, as I have wished to do before.  I'm reforming myself.  Slowly, yes, but into something greater just the same.  Paired with my demon I will be unstoppable.  The future holds nothing but greatness for me.  I can see the trail paved by the blood of those who oppose me.

            Angelus says I will get myself killed before long.  He doesn't enjoy having another man around I suppose.  He's the one that turned Dru. Drove her daft as well.  He's taken it upon himself to teach me 'the ways' of being a vampire.  Tries to make me stay cultured, but I've had enough of that in my life.

            Darla is the last member of our little family.  She made Angelus.  The woman reminds me too much of Cecily for comfort.  She is always looking at me with this distain, well when she's not completely ignoring the fact I exist.  She's the oldest out of all of us, but she's weak.  She's let Angelus dominate her, and that just rubs me the wrong way.

            Despite all of that, I rather like having this 'family.' Makes me feel wanted I suppose.  I cannot really tell why considering all but Dru treat me like I'm inferior.  I'll prove them wrong someday though.  And it will be someday soon, just you mark my words.

            That reminds me.  The name is Spike now.  Dru said William wasn't a good enough name for her handsome knight.  Lasher said he would rather have a railroad spike shoved through his head than have to listen to another one of my poems.  I carry one with me now.  For his sake, let's hope he doesn't meet me in a dark alley one night. ~Spike


	4. Chapter 4

4. Enroll Now!- Angelus' School of Torture for Young Vampires!

January 31, 1880

            Guess whom Angelus and I ran across tonight?  I've found nothing leaves you quite so satisfied as a spot of torture.

            We were in the Red Bear talking.  I don't get it but the pillock has taken quite the interest in me.  I'm not quite sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, after all he did drive my dearest Drusilla insane. I guess I've proved my usefulness to him. Anyway, let's get on with the story of one of the most satisfying nights of my life.

            About the time we exited the pub, Lasher and his group crawled pissed (Isn't it wonderful?  I've been spending so much more time with the lower-class lately.  It's simply thrilling to be able to learn such vernaculars.  And there I go spouting off like a pansy again.) from one of the cheaper pubs in the area.  

            The first one I killed was Roth.  He's the one that managed to brass me off first.  He was still laughing when I grabbed him.  They all were.  But by the time I was finished with him, the whole lot of them was scared shitless.  The fear in them made the entire act all the sweeter.  It made the blood sweeter.

            Gladham was next, and was to be followed by Saunders, but I had to merely snap his neck because Lasher decided to try to make a run for it.  I left Angelus to deal with the last of the group, Widgeon, as I followed Lasher.  As I said before I had a special mode of death picked for him.

            I tracked him around London until a few hours before dawn.  The fool didn't realize that the entire time I had been driving him to where I wanted him to go- the railroad yard.  I got there before him, of course.  Now this is an event that I want to remember for the rest of my life, so I'm making sure not to leave a single detail out.

            "Angelus, might you hold this fellow for me?"  I knew he was there, of course.  He moved from the shadows with the fluid grace I've come to associate with my grandsire, and quickly held Lasher up by the throat.

            "Happy to oblige," Angelus stated smirking at the man that was within his grasp.  I just sat and watched until Lasher began turning purple.  I didn't want him to die to early into the game.  Where was the fun in that?

            "Now then, I'd rather not have him dead, please."

            Angelus shook him a bit before putting him down, "Such a shame.  The other one was quite tasty I thought."

            I hopped up from my perch grinning at the both of them.  I silently wondered how much longer it would take for Lasher's eyes to explode in his head.  They certainly were buggered out at the moment. 

            A plan had already formed in my mind. "No, it will be his decision if he lives or dies tonight."  I smiled again as Lasher gurgled. "Why Cyril, you don't think I'm completely uncivilized because I'm a vampire, do you?  I'm crushed."  I walked around him then knelt at the railroad tracks.  I managed to pull out a spike, and don't think that was easy.

            I taunted a bit more, before I finally got to the enjoyable part.  His thoughts about hearing my poetry were about to come true. He pissed in his pants when he realized what I had planned. "I think my new situation may have improved my poetry," I started.  "I'll give you a choice, old man.  And I warn you, there's only one right choice here.  You can listen to the new poem I've written, or I can shove this railroad spike through your skull.  Understand?"  My only answer was a moan, but Angelus got a proud look on his face.

            "You may have some potential, boy."  Well that made me feel great.  I can't understand this need I have to impress Angelus, but it's there, and his comment had helped to make my night.  It was that, and the blood, and Lasher pissing in his pants.  That makes one complete night for William the Bloody.

            I kind of like that.  Has a ring to it.  The bastards used to call me that.  William the Bloody Awful Poet.  I think it's poetic justice that I go by that when killing them.

            I was telling of Lasher's death.  He was finally able to mumble out, "The poem."

            I had hoped he said that.  "I'm sorry," I said.  "I don't happen to have a new poem on me."  He tried to fight me, but I rammed the spike right through his temple and out the other side.  I licked a bit of blood from the wound.  Worst blood I've ever tasted.  I looked up at Angelus and grinned.  "I should have known all his taste was in his mouth."            

            After that we went out and took a couple of whores home for Darla and Drusilla as usual.  She was quite proud of me, and wanted to hear all about it. She's in one of her dazes again.  Angelus and Darla keep telling me she will just get over it (and she does) but I can't help but let it worry me.  She is my dark goddess after all.

            Which leave me to now.  I think I'll read a bit.  Maybe go down to the pub. ~Spike

February 7, 1880

Been a bit, and I'm not going to write much.  Just a few things I want to get off my mind.  Angelus took Dru into his room tonight.  It's obvious what he's doing to her and I hate it.  I'm the one that should be doing those things to her not him!  Bloody pillock gets what he wants when he wants it.

I learned that the hard way the other night.  Had the broken ribs to prove it.  I don't remember how I displeased him, but I did and got a beating for it.  The man has mood swings worse than any woman I've ever come across.  I have a feeling him taking Dru tonight is to punish me for whatever the hell it was I did too.  He knows how to hit where it hurts.

I'm learning from him.  I don't know if he realises it or not, but I am.  I watch him, how he kills.  Someday I'll use it against him.  The wanker won't know what hit him either.

I'm going out now.  I can't sit here and listen to my goddess' moan anymore.  I've discovered I can still get pissed.  I think that's what I'm gonna do.  Go get pissed, maybe find a nice whore to keep me occupied.  Anything to get out of here and away from the sounds of shagging. ~Spike


End file.
